The Frog
by Pr0t0nzz
Summary: Ten years earlier, Fran's memories of the Varia are completely wiped, and upon leaving with them to start his training, he realizes he is in way over his head. And why does the prince hate him so much, anyway! BelxFran
1. The Frog That Swims In Puddles

**The Frog**

**Chapter 1 – The Frog That Swims In Puddles**

_A/n; I had planned this kind of fic before the chapter updates, and it'll obviously be way off the canon story still, so yep. Ten year earlier Bel and Fran. Sorry for such a short first chapter and cramming a lot in, just trying to set the general mood._

_XxX_

The rain drops that pattered against the window were so large in number that the view outside was obscured completely. Not that there was much to look at, anyway. The building was situated far away from anything but grassland and forests, and he already knew that there would be nothing more to look at, nothing new to see, unless he explored this huge building.

Why he was here, was still not understandable.

Though he had replied with a sarcastic and creative remark towards the one with the long, snowy white hair, he was thankful when handed a blanket. But he had to admit that it was not the best of conditions, and the patches that must have once been holes were sewn up terribly, he presumed with whatever materials had been lying around. Alongside the beige, tatted blanket, he was given a pillow. Though the inside of it was not very plump, thus leaving it almost flat, the cover looked almost new, which he was glad about. The last thing he wanted was one covered in someone's spit or something. But when the man had lead him into a room the size of a broom cupboard, flicked on the light, and exclaimed the pile of fabrics was going to be his bed, that was when he spoke up.

"I know you aren't fond of me, Santa. But like I tried to tell you before, I'm not Harry Potter." He whined, though his voice was monotone. As usual. No change to each syllable, each word.

"Just shut the fuck up, kid. We're still fixing up your damn room, so don't die of pneumonia or something until we're fucking done." He grunted in response, chucking the folded uniform over to Fran. He was out of the door and slammed it behind him before Fran could open his mouth to respond. In silence, he stared at the black garments in his hands.

XxX

And the night continued to be one of absolute boredom. Fran had placed the uniform on the floor beside the mattress, and lay back on it, staring at the ceiling. Absent-mindedly counting the tiles.

He sang as his eyes scanned the ceiling, half-closed and groggy.

"_Frère Jacques. Frère Jacques. Dormez vous? Dormez vous?" _

_Crash._

"Ushishishi, you're in Italy now, little Fran."

There was a moment of silence before Fran's eyes flitted to the door, his expression completely wiped of any emotion. Even the exhaustion on his face seemed to sleek away.

"Oh, Princess." He stated.

The blonde scowled for a moment, throwing one of those oddly shaped knives, Fran pushed himself up from his lying position swiftly, _just _avoiding the knife to his face. Though he sighed when it went into the pillow. As if his sleeping arrangements weren't tedious enough.

Immediately, he began to work on retracting it.

"That wasn't very polite. This is the second impression and you're still not being any nicer." Fran said, his voice confident for someone who was almost slaughtered.

There was another moment of silence between them, before he heard the door slam. Once he had removed the knife, he turned his head to look at it.

He was wrong to expect the blonde to have walked out.

Fran held the knife out, and the blonde snatched it back, grinning that obscene, jaw-aching smile.

"Ushishishi, how gentleman of you, little Fran! Much more-so than your older-self."

To his confusion, there was an air of pain about the boy's words that made him wonder.

"What's your name?" Fran questioned, his head cocking to the side in what could be noted as mock curiosity. Though under the sarcastic gesture, he was generally interested.

"Belphegor. Though I also go by Prince The Ripper." As if to emphasize the nickname, he spun the knife around his finger, tossing it a few meters into the air before catching it.

"Bel-phe-gor." Fran dragged out, chewing his lower lip in thought for a few moments.

The named boy stood proudly, letting out that odd laugh once more.

"What a weird name." Fran said, his expression back to what seemed that of someone bored.

This time he didn't dodge the knife so smoothly, and let out a small cry when it cleanly slit his shoulder open, and a part of him shuddered at the feeling of the blood trickling down his skin.

"Ushishishi, there's hope for you yet, little Fran."

As he watched the Prince leave, in a glowering, wincing, silence. He cursed himself for not digging deeper. For flunking the opportunity to gain answers from the self-proclaimed Prince.

Watching his back felt odd.

As if he felt he should have told him to wait, invited him to stay, and told him everything would be okay.

And he didn't know why.

Belphegor, Prince The Ripper, was nothing to him as far as he was concerned, and attacking him proved even more to that case.

XxX

"Oh my! This is not good at all! You should have came to me right away, little one! This could become infected..." It was the next morning, and the boy called Lussuria told him, though his tone was not barbaric nor scolding. Fran found it odd that his tone was caring.

"Ah.." He whimpered, closing one eye as Lussuria pressed the antiseptic gauze to the gash. His fingers curled into the stool he sat on.

"With a clean cut like that, I bet assuming Bel-chan did this is correct?" Completely correct, though Fran could understand having worked with these people it would be only natural to understand the way they used their weapons.

"Yeah." The sea-foam green haired boy replied, "I guess I can understand if he dislikes me because of how I act but..." He was cut off.

"My, my! Bel-chan doesn't dislike you, Fran." To that, he blinked and looked up at the taller one.

"What?" His eyebrows knitted together, like a person suddenly understanding the meaning behind a crude joke.

"I don't really think it's my place to tell you, Fran. But I think he will eventually. Maybe he's just finding it easier to spite you."

Fran groaned, and not only from the throbbing pain as Lussuria applied the bandage. (Though he had been explained to that Lussuria had healing abilities, he was told that he had to comprehend what injuries felt like so he was able to handle them in tough situations on the battle field. Which of course, seemed tedious to him and unbelievable. He was only 13, how could he possibly be assassin material?)

"Oh, another thing. Though I'm sure you won't be too pleased about it. To save you from having more of these scars, I think you might be safer calling him 'Bel-senpai.' I won't leave you in the dark for the reasoning of it. Your older self called Bel-chan that, and I think it may make him relax a little. Our Prince has an obnoxious guard up." Lussuria smiled and tied the ends of the bandage before handing him back his shirt.

"You can head to the mess hall if you like, we have some workmen who make breakfast there in the mornings. Have to keep your strength, y'know?" He winked before turning his back on him.

Fran pulled on his shirt and assumed that he was being politely dismissed. Taking that into consideration, he headed out of the medical room.

Luckily, the Varia was quite well labeled when it came to rooms that were necessary for them. The only problematic part was finding your own sleeping quarter again. He had been told the reasoning behind that was so that infiltrators could not ambush them in their sleep.

He buttoned up the Varia uniform jacket as he walked along the corridor, following the sign to the mess hall.

Despite their characteristics, the mansion was beautifully well kept, and everything was placed in a way that seemed screamed good organization.

Fran pushed the large oak doors open and as he stepped into the hall, it fell completely silent. He blinked, glancing around. Most of the tables were taken up by men who looked almost identical to each other, talking on cell phones or scribbling on paper, 'even in their lunch break?' On a table separated from them were the group that brought him here, standing out from the others.

"Vrooooooooooii! You fucking ungreatful brat, get your ass over here and eat, I'm not carrying around your malnutrition-ed ass!"

In fake dramatics, Fran stuck a finger in one ear and twisted it.

"Captain I'm going to suffer severe migraines if you keep screaming at me." He called, but nevertheless made his way over.

"What are you late for?" The one called Leviathan eyed him. The question at hand rewarded him with a momentary glance from the prince. Well, he figured it was, as all he could assume it from was Belphegor's head turning in his direction.

"Ah, I was to embarrassed to leave my room with this uniform on." He said plainly, taking his seat at an empty space with a tray placed in front on the table.

The prince hadn't smiled at the question, which made him wonder.

It felt awkward sitting beside him, even if it was uncomfortable with the others, it was awkward AND uncomfortable with Belphegor. He could feel him seething, stabbing at his steak as if he was an executioner.

It was going to be a long, long life now.

_To be continued. _


	2. The Frog That Swims In Lakes

**The Frog**

**Chapter 2 – The Frog That Swims In Lakes**

"Wow! So you had this whole thing built in just for your land?" The baby-green eyes brimmed with a childish excitement, and the short French boy had to bring himself to a jog to keep up with how fast the Arcobaleno was floating in front of him, when he didn't reply, Fran knew the conversations were going to be hard to keep up.

"Hey...Mammon was it?" He screwed his nose up when he got lost in thought, and when he returned to reality, his eyes sparked again, "You're close with Bel-senpai, right?"

"Bel? You can assume what you want, but I don't really care." And just like that, the subject was dismissed, and Fran let out a soft sigh as his shoulders slumped. Okay, so it is going to be a long day, then. He wasn't really fond of all of this serious-ness, and he didn't really care much for what the Arcobaleno had to say. But of course, he had no choice in what he did throughout the days, and that is how it would be from then on out. He was a slave to these 'Varia' people. And that was the last to be said about it.

His half lidded gaze took in the full length of the lake when they stopped walking, as they stood by its side, at the end of a thin wooden pier.

"Not that I care what you do, I think you should take your role seriously, Fran, or what will soon **be **your role," The sun was barely breaking over the horizon, never did he remember waking up so early, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands warily, he tried his best to listen. "Our boss has placed a lot on the line to obtain you to come here. And in the near future, there will be risks far from what you could imagine." A small twitch, the smallest of any that could be fathomed, was most definitely tugging at the Arcobaleno's lips, as his head was tilted upwards, only allowing Fran to assume that the cursed one was also watching the canvas that was currently being born, only for the early morning wranglers. His heart tightened as he wondered if his beloved Grandma would be looking through the same early morning sun, through the old dusty square windows in the small, rickety cottage.

"Maybe you could imagine it like one of your comic books. Though not for one second am I going to tell you that you are the hero." Mammon was blunt, and Fran had to suck in a sharp breath to stop from losing his composure. A thing he continuously forgot was completely formed from a child's innocence. The realization of doing wrong.

He hadn't realized his new position, squatting at the edge of the wooden pier, dipping his fingers into the cool lake and removing them, repeating the gesture slowly, his eyes blank as he watched the ripples form and disperse, like ordering out the troops, the suffocating realization of another gesture that could only be accumulated in his mind as leadership made him snap his hand back, and wipe it swiftly on his jacket.

"Why am I doing this?" He questioned, his voice sure of itself, unbeknownst to him, it did not yet continue to be entirely formed in a monotone sound, and his words were rather more formal than sarcastic. That was the way he had been raised, and this Fran, as of yet, had not soon forgotten those ways.

"You have a gift." The answer was spiteful, and had Mammon hissed the words, it would have sounded the same. He remembered his other name now...'Viper.' And he could picture the sight. For some reason the water seemed far more comforting to him than the tall grassland around them, and he knew the only reason why he was not in fact, gasping for breath in a pool of his own rouge red blood, was that he had this 'gift.'

"No matter how many times I hear that, no-one ever cares to explain." He replied, gnawing at his lower lip to stop himself from snapping. He knew even if he did so, that the assassin would not concern himself with the art of over-exaggeration, and give him the cold shoulder or anything. And he wasn't doing it out of fear either. Mammon is the only member that truly treats him like he's, well...him.

Which just brought more questions, more questions and more confusion to date.

"Actually," He hears the faintest of a _whoosh _in the still air, and knows even without looking that the Arcobaleno is just behind him, "That is why I brought you here. Of course, I don't do any special treatment without a price that you most certainly cannot pay right now, kid. So I will tell you, that the water, and anything associated...be it; ice, condensation, evaporation, mist, rain, rivers, lakes, sea water, and farther more. It is all yours...Because this gift is far more powerful than any other mist guardian. And you must learn to play its sound on your own. Look deep into yourself, find out what makes you tick, and _flow." _No more questions could be asked, because the crackle in the air indicated he was now alone.

'_Find out what makes you tick...'_ He stood now, walking back along the pier and down one of the banks, reaching over just to pick up a perfectly smoothed pebble.

"I don't know, _a clock?" _He shouted in frustration, throwing the pebble with all of his strength into the water, and even the _plop _sound wasn't as audible as any of his masculine cousins could make. He had always been the weak one, and he knew that in this situation, they would be far more equipped. Who could possibly be a captain when they can't even cause a splash?

xXxX

Hours went past without any form of result, and now he was wading through the lake, feeling far more comforted by the ripples being around him, being _him, _rather than the responsibility of them being something he is not. Someone he is not.

The water is cool, and it soothes, seeping through the tiniest of holes in the sewing of the Varia's uniforms. But he does not complain, he simply enjoys and he simply basks. It's about midday now, and even with the faintest of kafuffle from afar, namely voices, he has been very much alone since Mammon's departure.

Fran doesn't mind though, he prefers the isolation. It's something he's used to, and something he would much rather have.

But this is when the first realization hits him, just like the waves of thought about the blonde haired psycho who had cut into him the previous night. But the thoughts were mainly the wounds themselves. He found himself picturing the lines of the cut, how deep and how thick it was, the length of it and where it was. And just like that, he felt the cold embed itself onto his skin. At first it's frightening, like it's crawling into the slits of his wounds like some kind of parasite, and he pulls at his shirt that perhaps he should have removed earlier, though he did not want anyone else to have to see the wounds, and find out what they were from. Lussuria was enough.

He cries out and he lashes, and he falls back into the water just as he manages to unclasp and pull off his jacket, and wriggle out of the turtle neck that sticks to his skin.

His panicking hands are pushing at sea-foam-green bangs to try and see, but that's useless because he can't now anyway. And it keeps entering, seeping, crawling, and he's scratching and gasping so much that he forgets in this moment, what swimming is, and simply, he blacks out.

'_Find out what makes you __**tick...' **_Everything is white, white and constantly moving. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, and he was floating in the centre, bound by chords he could not see, and being suffocated by air he was no longer permitted to breathe.

And water was flowing in from a vent that he had not noticed until the gushing sound it made as the water picked up its pace, and he thrashed once more, screaming all sorts of absurd profanities in his native tongue as well as the adopted Italian.

He had never been afraid of water though, all of his life he had swam in the lake on the mountainside, bathed in the hot springs that were not man-made whatsoever. He was fearless when it came to the aqua, and that is why he was smart enough to understand that is not what it was trying to tell him.

Though he was dumb enough to have no idea that was going on throughout this period, and he was now sobbing as the water reached his shoulders, that now familiar and unwelcomed feeling of this intrusion into his wounds had returned, and through the corner of his eyes he could have sworn that he saw purple. Purple tendrils, slicked with black, black like oil.

And it had now entered the water, soiling it, killing the purity, the purity of the land, the purity of the Earth could have been consumed by this, this unruly power that he could not comprehend. And he was just a scared, lonely little boy all over again. On the doorstep of his Grandma's small little home in the mountainside that he had trekked to on bloody and battered feet. And there he was, brown, battered cuddly rabbit toy in his arm, as he sobbed uncontrollably into the back of his wrist and waited for her to answer the door.

And as the tendrils made their way around his waist, consuming him, and consuming the room, he saw the young boy he had been, being pulled into the warm, loving arms of his sweet, innocent grandmother.

And the warm breeze buffeted the scent of freshly cut lavender.

XxX

"Stupid frog, always causing bother!" The voice was familiar, and Fran felt himself stir, but not push away from the warmth that was pressed against his body, his eyes stayed shut as his lids were far too heavy to raise right now, and his body, as limp as a corpse from how heavy it felt. And now, he felt himself desiring more explanations, great.

"...Sen...pai?" He rasped, spluttering and heaving. He felt as if he was about to be sick, but even that seemed to much effort in his current situation.

"Ohhh, you're awake now, shishishi!" It didn't matter the time of day, from the way Fran felt, it could have been a few weeks since he was last conscious, yet the 'Prince' still found him absolutely amusing.

"Senpai..." He was about to come up with a witty retort, when he beat down his pride with gritted teeth and decided to get down to business, "What... happened... to... me?" His throat was incredibly sore, but he managed the words out well enough to be understandable.

"You're making progress, froggy. That's what." The blonde continued his manic laughter, as if Fran was a complete fool, and should wear a dunce hat for asking such a silly question. But the fact still stood, he knew goddamn nothing about any of this.

"I don't know what Mammon told you to do, but it worked. Looks like you're starting to get the hang of how your mist powers work, huh?" Belphegor continued when Fran didn't reply, and he had dropped a little of the amused tone of voice.

"This is nowhere near done, is it?" He asked weak-heartedly, knowing the answer before it came.

"Of course not, don't be stupid, there's so much more you need to understand from how Mammon and the Decimo talked about you. Hell, even Boss has more to say than calling you a brat, which is something, you know."

"Are you attempting to soothe me, senpai?" He was now beginning to pick his tone back up, and found comfort in this. So at least he wasn't dying, right?

Now it was the blonde's turn to fall silent, and when Fran's eyes finally managed to open, he wished he had a new excuse to keep them closed.

He was tucked into bed, most definitely shirtless, with the blonde sat by his side, fiddling with the edge of the blanket between long, slender fingers.

And then the second wave of something entirely out of step with reality hit him.

"_Let him go!" Belphegor's spiked hair was most certainly a well suited style change for him, and his body was more broad and lean then scrawny now. He fitted the new uniform much better, and was that white stripes and fur? Nicer touches, much less bland.._

"_GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Now it was clearer, he was struggling against the black cloaked figures that held him back against the wall, and most of what could be seen of the 'Prince' was bloodied and battered, and he was almost completely lifeless by how helpless he seemed. _

_There was a cry, a familiar one, alongside a gunshot that was ear piercing, almost as murderous as the bullet itself._

_It was his cry._

_And that was the moment that the blonde burst into uncontrollable sobs, so mournful that he could almost feel his soul tear apart._

_From everything he had read or watched of friendship, this was certainly not it._

"Can I be alone for a moment, senpai?"

...

_To be continued! Sorry for the really long wait in updating, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!_

_Also I will be changing the name Plims0les to Pr0t0nz just as a heads up. _


End file.
